Stripped / Andie, Lucas, Minerva

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[style=width: 420px; background: #121212; color: #465945; font-family: times new roman; font-style: italic; text-align: center; font-size: 38px; letter-spacing:-4px; line-height: 60px; padding-bottom: 4px; -moz-border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; opacity: 0.8;]LET ME SEE YOU STRIPPED DOWN TO THE. BONE

LET. ME HEAR YOU SPEAKING JUST FOR ME

tag: andie, the traitor, minnie// words: 1120// notes: hope this is okay let me know if anything needs changing!

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[style=height: 400px; overflow: auto; font-family: verdana; line-height: 11px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #ffffff; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 0px;]The mission was simple. Stand the perimeter and keep watch. While the wolves tore their way through the town and it’s occupants it would be the death eater’s job to turn those fleeing back around to the carnage through what ever means were at their disposal. In the middle of such flurrying panic it was easy for his face to go unnoticed, to pretend with gentle words that he was an auror promising to take them somewhere safe before sitting back and watching their mauling with sharp laughter. Quickly making a get away before one of the hungry little wolfies took abit to much interest in their owners. This battle was different indeed to the last assault on Hogsmeade village. There would be no murder, no maiming and torture, not by wizard hands anyway, the hounds were to have all the fun, spreading their infection as far as possible. It was simple, elegant: perhaps why Rodolphus Lestrange soon found he was almost bored of the whole affair. Normally by now he would have turned his assignment into a new twisted little game for his amusement, playing with select victims and literally feeding them to the wolves when it was time to move onto someone new. But not today. Today he had his own mission to put into fruition.   Lucas Mulciber. The turn-coat. His delight at being assigned the mission had been palpable. Clapping his brother on the shoulder and all but leaping from the meeting room to see his preparations. The problem had come in how to get Lucas out of the castle, the only two weaknesses he knew to be associated with the man and usable against him now either a pound of mauled flesh or hidden away in that damned fortress of a school with him. But this, this was the perfect opportunity. For a time he had considered that the traitor may be to coward to show himself on the battlefield, hiding himself behind Dumbledore's cloaks, before promptly reminding himself that with the werewolves how ever could Lucas resist? Rodolphus was looking forward to it. More then he had any potential kill since before Azkaban. Looking forward to savouring the traitors agony, hearing his screams, having him begging for forgiveness before finally ending it. Perhaps he'd make a feast of him to one of the wolves for ironys sake. Rodolphus was not a man who lost with grace. The fact that Lucas had managed to pull the wool over his eyes, had managed to shock him with his betrayal... his ego demanded recompense and blood would be the only thing good enough. That his lord had deemed to trust him (and of course his brother) above all others with the task of ridding the traitor who had caused so many a problem was a none to subtle inflation to his already considerable pride.   Stood on the edge of town, swamp green eyes surveying his tedious surroundings, cloak catching the harsh December wind he knew deep and surely something was wrong. It didn't take long for the problem to show itself, an auror some fifty feet away unnoticing in their dandy purple robes guiding a group of people through a momentarily visible barrier before it faded once more. Now that had not been in the plan. Last time had been easy, the Ministry caught completely off their guard, by the time the aurors had arrived the carnage was in full flow. It had sport, not war. Clearly they had tried to be more clever this time - morons. A perimeter just behind the death eaters own. But there was more to it. The town seemed darker somehow, a thin mist had settled over the village. It was cold. Damned cold, even for the middle of winter. A little part of him at the back of his mind loudly announced something was wrong, informed him to get his arse out of there, it was promptly silenced.   He gave a quick glance around him though none of his comrades were in view. And finally the awful question - did he desert his post? Orders were orders, a true fanatic Rodolphus had and would never dispute the Dark Lord but all was not according to plan. Certainly the chances of him finding Lucas grew ever slimmer if the others were half stood, half deserting into the town. And well aurors guiding the civilians to safety? Now that could not be allowed. A terrible toothy grin slid it's way across his features. Perhaps they'd be some fun in this babysitting yet. If Scrimgeour wanted them in a pen then so be it, he'd gladly leave him nothing but rubble and a mound of bodies to find when the smoke cleared. The screams grew clearer as he made his way into the town. The sounds of panic buried under howls and the thick taste of smoke. Come out, come out Lucas. Rodolphus was made for this life, the smell of blood, the screams, the chaos and the throb of adrenaline. This was a world of anarchy, the only rules and consequences for his actions nothing more then the wand clutched in his right hand. With an eerie elegance he hopped across the array of fallen bodies in multiple stages of disfigurement quietly humming to himself as he surveyed the carnage he had obviously missed out on - a shame. His grin nothing short of manic, eyes flashing with a horrible revelry. It was then his attention was drawn by a swift movement out of the corner of his eye. A woman, young collecting the survivors, attempting to guide the panic stricken masses whose homes had been terrorised for the second time to the safety beyond the barrier. Now that wouldn't do at all. He gained speed, the lackadaisical stroll shifting to a sharp sprint as he made his way after them, left, right, hugging the buildings to avoid being spotted by the enemy or more worryingly the hounds in the midst of their feast. As soon as he was close enough a careful spell was shot from the end of his wand, a simple tripping charm - where was the fun to ending things to quickly? He had always preferred to play with his food when the option arouse, preferred them to know who it was that delivered their death.   He tutted loudly, moving to close the distance between them with a leisurely slowness that was nothing short of mocking. Who was this girl to think she could stand a chance against the Dark Lord and his followers? To think she had any hope at all. The grin on his face had spread almost impossibly from ear to ear. “Not today sweetheart.” He purred silkily.

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[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding:0; margin: 0; background-image:url(http://i1029.photobucket.com/albums/y353/shockwavesyndrome/thisiswar.png);background-repeat:repeat-y;width: 450px;height:600px;] If there was a hell, Andie imagined it probably looked, smelled, and felt much like this. Her dark eyes scanned the horrific scenes around her in complete disgust and fear, coughing from the intense smoke in the air as she released a family from their home by blasting the door off its hinges and guiding the family back towards the exit before charging back into the fray. Left and right, she heard the screams of terror and pain as werewolves ravaged the chaos and anarchy that had once been, not even an hour ago, the peaceful village of Hogsmeade. Andie’s room had been in the Three Broomsticks, waiting for her return, and quite a few of her belongings had been in there. Including Andie’s personal copy of Pride and Prejudice… oh, someone was going to pay for that. Though she quickly shook away the vain revelation, it still stung both her pride and her wellbeing as a whole. It was the people trapped and the people who needed to get out that mattered, not her own personal belongings. The only relief that the young female Auror had was that Stryder, her beloved puppy, had not been in that room (she had Madame Rosmerta’s obstinate refusal to allow animals to stay into her pub and hotel to thank for that), and that not all of her clothes had been destroyed. Though, with another split second distraction, Andie realized that she would probably have to go shopping. That wouldn’t be so bad, she decided, but she had to shake the thoughts out of her head as she helped the group get out. One they had crossed the boundary, Andrea went back in without a second thought or a reprieve. Despite the horrors that surrounded her, she would do her duty. That was her role, and she would fulfill it without a word of doubt or fear, even if her heart pounded against her ribs from the adrenaline. It was probably the adrenaline that was keeping her going by any count. She’d already had to cast aside two werewolves from innocents that had been protecting children, and saved that family, and it had barely even been ten minutes since she’d first entered the fray. The young woman had to take a few deep breaths, though she immediately coughed as more smoke entered lungs. A snarl to her right drew Andie to wordlessly whip up her wand and Stun an approaching werewolf, and felt a momentary spark of pride at having used wordless magic. She wasn’t an expert at it, naturally, though with the help of her wand, she was able to do it in such snap and desperate instances. It was just, the question had to be begged - where had all these werewolves come from? It was clear they were here on Voldemort’s bidding, for Andie had seen at least one or two hooded and masked figures since entering the fight and there was no question to which side they belonged, but Andrea couldn’t for the life of her imagine how or why, exactly, this was occurring. The time for speculation was not now. She knew that. So wiping sweat from her sooty brow, Andie coughed one more time before frantically looking around. She had to find someone else, because there was no way from the screaming and the fires that everyone was out safely. The Aurors and the Order were spread out too thin, she realized in horror, because she could hardly see anyone else from their side helping people to safety. She had spotted maybe one or two other people, plus the two she had saved, but… well, whatever was going on, the situation did not look bright, and maybe that was one of the things that frightened Andrea the most. These people needed protection, they needed help, but if there wasn’t enough help to go around… Andie steeled her nerves and instead charged towards another building on fire, blasting the door away just as she had moments ago and getting a young couple out from their burning house, completely unaware that she was being watched by one of those very same hooded figures that appeared to be at the root of all this evil. ”Come on, come on,” she said, almost impatiently as she urge the couple onward, coughing when she realized using her own voice made her throat almost scratchy. She was inhaling too much smoke, but at that moment the young Auror didn’t really care. Without any other instructions, she started to run with the couple, guiding them towards the exit in harsh, hoarse tones as they went along, and she had absolutely no idea they were being followed until a spell seemed to catch her foot and Andrea went tumbling to the ground, crashing against the blood-stained cobblestone and shouting for the young couple to move onward. Gasping for air, her breath having escaped her, Andrea coughed and rolled over to face her opponent. From a year of wanted posters, there was no mistaking who it was before her. Narrowing her eyes, Andrea hastily staggered to her feet, breathing heavily as she glared the best daggers she could manage at the infamous Rodolphus Lestrange. In some ways, she was eager for this confrontation. Never before had the young Auror faced down with a true Death Eater before. Her dark eyes sparked with irritation at his tutting and his leisurely pace. She certainly wouldn’t make this an easy kill for him regardless. ”Oh, yes, today, old man,” she growled roughly as she raised her wand and growled out a Stunning curse and shot it towards him, not entirely thinking the action through, though she wasn’t necessarily that kind of person. But the thrill of actually being in a fight, a chance to prove herself, it was too much to pass up. And perhaps that was what would lead her astray in the end. No good had ever truly come of a battle-hungry young Auror seeking to further her own self-esteem. She hardly even considered who she was going up against as she gripped the handle of her wand tightly. 1002 || rodolphus, lucas, minerva this template was made by ZOE of caution 2.0 !

ooc~ as a side note, as this template doesn't allow for much room for notes, I give Rodolphus full permission to do whatever he needs to down her in the next post to move the thread forward if it makes things more convenient. Or if folks need me to fix anything, please let me know!

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[style=width: 420px; background: #121212; color: #465945; font-family: times new roman; font-style: italic; text-align: center; font-size: 38px; letter-spacing:-4px; line-height: 60px; padding-bottom: 4px; -moz-border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; opacity: 0.8;]LET ME SEE YOU STRIPPED DOWN TO THE. BONE

LET. ME HEAR YOU SPEAKING JUST FOR ME

tag: andie, the traitor, minnie// words: 600// notes: harp i just ran away with this let me know if anything needs changing. lucas to the rescue!

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[style=height: 400px; overflow: auto; font-family: verdana; line-height: 11px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #ffffff; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 0px;]Rodolphus grinned, teeth flashing horribly as she scrabbled to her feet glaring daggers at him. This one had some spirit. A shame he didn’t have enough time to play properly. A dark laugh escaped him as she proclaimed her challenge proudly. Oh this whelp had no idea what she was up against. She’d soon learn. Proud little girl all fresh in her new auror robes, how her parents would sob when she was just another in the long list of dead paving the way to the dark lord’s victory. He dispelled the first spell sent in his direction with little effort. Really? A stunner? That was almost insulting. Surely he’d been worth a ‘shoot to kill’ on the aurors lists by now. These new youths were no where near as fun as the old boys he remembered facing down during the first war. He was not so quick when the second spell came, a quick turn sideways as his mocking stroll shifted to a swift run, the narrowly missed curse scraping across his arm, a gush of warmth spilling down his elbow and steaming in the frozen night. Hum so the kitty had claws. He was less then ten feet away when his own assault began. His choice of spells far from the kindness of a stunner. Some particularly gruesome dark magic shot and narrowly missed slamming into the surrounding buildings to add to the rubble. The thick smoke filled with a chocking dust. Each of his curses narrowly dodged or dispelled as she sent her own back. Was the little auror trying to prove herself against him? Deliver one of the Lestrange’s back in cuff’s to Azkaban and receive a medal of honour? He would rather die then go back there. Finally he sent two spells in quick succession. The first a stunner nothing more then a light show to distract her with, the next hit it’s target full on. “Crucio!” He emerged from the fallen rubble with a painful arrogance. A smug smirk carved across his face, eyes glistening sadistically as he closed the distance between himself and the writhing body leisurely, seemingly not at all disturbed by the ever louder howls of the wolves into the night, the density of smoke and mist ever increasing, the visibility of his surroundings diminishing. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to play with little girls today.” He drolled, his tone almost bored. He crouched over her he reached her, like some monster in a fairytale, green eyes surveying his prey in her agony with vague amusement. Normally he would not allow his victims such a quick end, normally preferred to draw out his pleasure and take all he could from them. But a little lost auror was not his mission today. With the mist and the smoke closing in he had to find Lucas before the coward slipped away unseen. He supposed he could immobilise her, a nice cut or two to release the blood and let the wolves find her and have their way. But the idea of sending the Ministry back one of their own in a body bag with his own hands was far more appealing. A slit to her throat to leave him content in the knowledge her death had taken it’s time to come… no she might be found before then and that certainly wouldn’t do. It would have to be quick. “A shame we could have had such fun.” The tip of his wand came to rest under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, the killing curse forming on his lips.

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[LUCAS DONOVAN CAIN MULCIBER]

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“Figyelés!” The word was barked without thought, without conscious awareness, as Lucas dodged flying debris from a nearby building that had just been struck by a blasting curse. His cry had the necessary affect all the same, regardless of understanding. The Ministry official he was aiding looked over and he motioned him down in time to keep the man from getting brained by blasted brick. Growling a long string of disgruntled Hungarian, Lucas yanked the man back to his feet roughly, the grip he put on the other’s forearm punishing enough to bruise. “Get to the others,” Lucas ordered him, thrusting the man forcibly back in the general direction of where some of the Aurors were still painstakingly working to keep the barrier open. ”You’re useless here!” he snapped, when the man hesitated, ”Go, damn you!”

Lucas didn’t wait to see if he would be heeded after his final command was issued, instead making his way back to the south side of the city, where a good chunk of the villagers were still quarantined. The north end had been the first to clear, followed swiftly by the west and east ends – but the Order and the Aurors were stretched too thin to open multiple breaches in the barrier, get people out, control the Dementors and fight the Death Eaters all at once. As such, a single breach had been made, and the villagers had been funnelled through as orderly as possible amid the panic.

Lucas had to admit, he’d been having a good run thus far. His once crisp white dress shirt was now a smoky grey, with dark flecks across the chest from various blood splattering incidents before he’d had his talk with the Potter boy after rescuing him and some child from the jaws of a wolf. What perturbed Lucas was how many children were in the village to be rescued– it was far more than there should have been, considering the village demographic, and it left a sinking feeling in his stomach that something more was afoot, something that would come to light with the dawning of morning at the end of this battle. He could not afford to think much on it, but he knew whatever the answer was, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

His arms, bared earlier when he had rolled his sleeves back, were black with the mingling of soot, blood and sweat, giving him the look of a macabre blacksmith as he bounded over chunks of destroyed wall to make it to the south gate, where he was now most needed. They needed to clear out the last of the villagers – there were more than enough hours left in the night for many of them to die before the wolves regained their human forms, and Lucas could not allow himself to rest until he knew he had pulled as many from the fray as possible.

It was less his oaths to Albus that drove Lucas to such a frenzied state of protectiveness, and more his upbringing. He had been born and raised to fight against attacks exactly like this one, had been ingrained from childhood to protect humans from werewolves and vampires alike. He had been beaten to the catechisms of you will suffer no beast to live and you will suffer no dead to walk the earth so many times that it was the very beat of his heart. He knew the rhythm of the war drums when they beckoned, knew the orders as a son of Mulciber just as he knew how one must draw breath in order to live. Hogsmeade was his jurisdiction, and it was being overrun. Regardless of his failures as a son of the clan, regardless of the haunting questions of whether or not a werewolf could retain its human soul after being transformed, there was no part of Lucas’ psyche that could see this devastation and not fight tooth and nail to stop it.

Lucas did not need to be sworn into the Order by Albus Dumbledore to do what he was doing now. He would have done it even if he had still been among the Dark Lord’s ranks. The minute – the second that a plan such as this became known to him, Lucas would have flipped sides faster than one would have imagined possible. A part of him keenly wished he had not switched sides so early into the game – that he had found a way to keep his involvement in helping Severus save those kids hidden. The werewolf registry would have been with the Mulcibers now – or if not, he could have at least had his cousins here, aiding him in the protection of this village. The main clan may have turned its back on Rugen and his shadowed offspring, but they were giving Lucas a chance to redeem himself. They would have answered his call to arms, of that Lucas was absolutely certain. There may have been no love lost between the Mulciber Clan Elders and the British Ministry of Magic, but the Mulcibers would not have stood idly by while werewolves were being rallied as attack dogs against the citizenry.

All of this was of no use to dwell upon now – it was too late for a call to muster – he had no option but to bring his training to bear and protect Hogsmeade to the best of his capabilities, keep as many from being turned as possible. What he could not afford to think was the darker thoughts, the more insidious questions about the nature of these wolves as they were men. He could not afford to wonder how many of them were like Remus, or if Remus truly was what Lucas feared he might be. All he could do was stay focused on the mission, and in doing it the Order’s way now. Though he had killed several werewolves this night, Lucas had resolved to stop and debilitate only, as in standing with the Order’s beliefs – though if he were to be truly honest with himself, his convoluted relationship with Remus and the comments thrown at him by Minerva and Potter were more the reasons for his sudden reticence toward killing what he was trained from birth to obliterate.

A patch of ice almost took Lucas by surprise, but as he felt his feet slip, Lucas allowed his knees to bend and he half ran, half slid around a corner, using one of his daggers to anchor his turn by slamming it into the ground. The result was a sharp turn around a tight corner that looked a lot more planned than it was, which was all for the best considering what he discovered on the other side. Rodolphus, hovering like some Dementor over a young lass Lucas recognized as one of the Order’s Aurors. Well, there’d be none of that now.

Casting a blasting curse at the same time as he called ”Hey gorgeous,” Lucas stalked forward and gave no quarter, following his blaster with a shot of Fiendfyre, perfectly controlled. If Rodolphus blocked it with magic, it would curve around to land behind him, blocking a running escape even though Lucas knew that Roddy wasn’t one for running when he was pissed straight into stupid. The one thing Lucas had always loved about Rodolphus was how predictably imbecilic the man became when he was infuriated – and Lucas knew damn well the man was pissed. Oh, he was livid beyond belief though of course he’d act as though he wasn’t. Lucas had so hoped he’d meet Rodolphus on the field sooner or later – getting him out of the way was one key to bringing Rabastan off of Voldemort’s playing field, after all.

Rodolphus was one of Voldemort’s more sadistic, and certainly among the more arrogant. There’d always been a silent level of contempt between them, masquerading itself as respect. They both had their ways when it came to torture, but there was much about Rodolphus’ methodology that bore the need for considerable improvement. Lucas had always felt that Rodolphus had a very low opinion of his capabilities, and of course that stemmed straight from the man’s own boundless arrogance. He was so wrapped up in himself that he spent very little time actually thinking there was anyone who could pose him a challenge.

Lucas had every intention of taking full advantage of these sordid facts, even as he casually cast a series of low level cutting jinxes interspersed with one or two evisceration curses with the air of a man who was just practicing for the duel tomorrow. ”Long time no see,” He remarked casually even as he responded to the curses and jinxes thrown his way, not hesitating, not dodging, just coming straight on. Rodolphus wanted him to suffer, so killing him straight on wasn’t in the cards. Lucas was ready for that sign of green light, just in case Roddy felt a little bit of his true cowardice rise up, but in the meantime he simply cast spell after spell, driving Rodolphus back with occasional bursts of Fiendfyre until he was planted firmly between the Death Eater and the fallen Auror. He felt it then, as Rodolphus began getting a touch creative with his cursing, the odd cooling of the air, but there were other things to focus upon. He had to keep an eye out for wolves, push Roddy back, and keep Andrea in the clear – there was no time to pay heed to temperature drops.

”How’s your wife?” Lucas remarked casually as he dodged a cruciatus and simultaneously cast sectumsempra, checking behind himself to make sure that rogue crucio didn't strike Andrea. The glance was enough to show him she was fine – enough to get him hit by a nasty little boil hex that Lucas couldn’t help but respond to with a blasting curse. Boils? Boils? What were they, twelve?

And why the fuck was it so cold all of a sudden?

tagged .

[/b] Roddy, Andie & Minnie words .[/b] 1656
notes .[/b] I moved this forward to spare us a blow by blow fight; I figure Roddy can bring us to the full on Dementor attack in the next post and then Minerva can come sweeping in, but if that doesn't work & /or/ you guys want me to change anything, please, please poke me a PM![/color]

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this lovely template was made by Arro from Caution 2.0

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[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding:0; margin: 0; background-image:url(http://i1029.photobucket.com/albums/y353/shockwavesyndrome/thisiswar.png);background-repeat:repeat-y;width: 450px;height:600px;] Certainly, as Andrea soon found herself shooting spell after spell at Lestrange, her brown eyes narrowed in frustration, there are some who might argue that she should have been simply attempting to kill the Death Eater before her. And for all rights and purposes, she should have been able to - she should have been trying to. All logic pointed to the fact that Rodolphus Lestrange was not about to allow himself to be captured again, so it was probably much simpler to kill him and leave the consequences to someone higher up on the Department. After all, she wouldn’t be prosecuted if she sent a green light towards the older man proudly and confidently making his way towards her, seemingly unaffected by every spell she threw at him (though she was quite proud to see that she had landed at least one spell, even if it wasn’t at full blast and it was only a simple cutting hex), as it would have been in self-defense. No, the simple truth behind Andrea’s refusal to cast an Unforgiveable was just that she couldn’t. Andie was no vicious soul, and despite the fact that she was, in a way, fighting for a her life, she lacked the heart to actually kill someone, she lacked the conviction. Some might have argued it was a witness, others might say it was a testament to her moral strength as a young woman playing by her own rules. Right now, Andrea didn’t see it as a handicap or an advantage right now, she had no time to think about that sort of thing - at the moment it was only a hard fact, a fact she had to work around the instant Rodolphus actually began his assault. Cursing to herself, she had that horrible moment of realizing that before, he had merely been toying with her, and that now she was beginning to see the true extent of his power. And in this moment, right now in the way things were, he would overpower her. He was stronger than she was as a spellcaster, and with her attention span so frayed and worried for the other people in the village, she was only barely managing to hold her own. The assault lasted less than a moment, as Andrea very shortly lost. She had just desperately deflected a Stunner when it hit her. A pained shriek escaped from her lips as she went down, the Cruciatus Curse ripping through her like a bomb had gone off inside her. Andie didn’t even feel herself hit the ground, she was too preoccupied by the shredding pain in her skull, in her abdomen, in her everywhere. After the initial scream, the young Auror did her best to keep quiet. There was a part of her that was still aware of what was going on -a small part at that, but she was still vaguely aware all the same. But it still felt as if there was too much pain in her to contain, and so groans and cries of agony did escape her as she curled in on herself, but as Rodolphus approached and crouched next to her, Andrea did manage to grit her teeth and glare up at him. ”I didn’t want to play with you anyway,” she managed to ground out before the pain overcame her again, and she had to clench her eyes shut as if that might shield her from the mindshattering hurt. Her body continued to twitch, and Andrea also felt a twinge of horror as she felt the cold wood of a wand under her chin, and panting, Andie defiantly raised her eyes to meet his, nothing but pure undiluted rage shining in her expression. If she was about to die, she would die staring her enemy in the eye, even if it meant nothing to him. She would not go from this world knowing that in her last moment of life, she hadn’t faced her foe. Andrea was no Gryffindor, but she certainly was no coward. She would not go softly. The last few seconds before she thought her death would come, her imagined last thoughts were of her mother and brother, and Tonks, the people she cared for the most in this world. ”Do it, then,” she groaned, taking shaky deep breaths as the spasms of agony rolling through her seemed to mean nothing now that she was staring death in the eye. But then the wand was gone, as was the pain, and Andie was left heaving for breath on that blood-and-filth-stained cobblestone as she struggled to regain her bearings. As an Auror, she managed to regain control of her senses rather quickly, and she glanced up as she gripped her wand, which had fallen just a foot or two away from her when she’s gone down. With the comforting weight of it in her hand once more, she was finally able to see what was going on - was it an ally or a foe that had actually come to her unexpected rescue? Her eyes fell on Lucas Mulciber, a man she recognized from Order meetings as the traitor Death Eater who now fought for their side, and Andie took several deep breaths as she registered that he was, as a matter of fact, engaging Rodolphus Lestrange for her. Now, Andrea was a proud young woman, but she could recognize when she was outmatched, and in this case, she simply hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught. She had to close her eyes as she felt her stomach roll from the nausea she was experiencing, but after a brief moment of reprieve, she was able to quell the horrible feeling of bile in her throat. At this moment, she looked up, to see that Mulciber had somehow managed to position himself between her and the sadistic Lestrange. The air was getting cold, and Andie couldn’t resist the irrepressible shudder, particularly in her now weakened state, her body aching. God, if giving birth was anything like this… Andrea was never having children. She wished there was some way to let Mulciber know that she was in his debt, that his rescue was more appreciated than he could ever know. He could handle Lestrange on his own, she was certain, and there were other people who needed help - it would have been wasteful and rather pointless to join the fight on Lucas’s behalf, so she managed to stumble to her feet, wincing as her muscles keenly protested the movement and her stomach rolled again. It took her another few seconds to get her bearings, shivering from the cold - what was going on with the temperature? But she glanced one more time at the brawl between the two wizards before taking a deep breath and scrambling back towards the fighting, towards warmth, and threw herself into the fray. 1146 || rodolphus, lucas, minerva this template was made by ZOE of caution 2.0 !

ooc~ exit andie stage left. ^^

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LET. ME HEAR YOU SPEAKING JUST FOR ME

tag: andie, the traitor, minnie// words: 1097// notes: Oh yeah hot kissy action… 0_0 I don’t care what they did in the films Roddy’s getting a proper book dementor kiss damnit!

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[style=height: 400px; overflow: auto; font-family: verdana; line-height: 11px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #ffffff; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 0px;]Rodolphus loomed over the girl, about to finish his work when a blasting curse slammed into his side with a sickening crunch of impact at his ribs. Sending him sprawling inelegantly several feet away from his intended victim with a harsh thud. Furious green eyes landed murderously on the culprit. Mulciber. His blood ran red hot, jaw clenched as his teeth gritted painfully. The girl was completely forgotten as he dragged himself to his feet. Any of the disturbed playfulness that had been extended to the auror vanished, fury all but radiating from him. That his enemy, that Mulciber of all the worthless scum had managed to sneak up on him was unacceptable. He was quick enough to block the fiendfyre cast in his direction, unnoticing as it smashed behind him in a burst of a flooding heat, blocking his one potential exit. “Lucas. How nice of Dumbledore to let you out for walkies!” He declared with his usual wide sinister smile, but the rage was clear in his gaze, his stance. And Lucas was right in his assumptions. So wrapped in his fury everything was thrown blindly behind each spell, the precise, deliberate nature of his usual duelling cast aside for a flurry of ever more inventive, ever more cruel curses. No he wouldn’t kill him. Not straight out, no matter how easily that would see his orders successfully completed. He wanted Lucas to suffer. To scream and beg in defeat. To pay for his treachery. For daring to make a fool out of him, Rodolphus Lestrange, for daring to besmirch his master, for daring to slander his families honour with lies into his brothers ears. Killing him was far too easy, far too simple. No he’d have his fun first, have Mulciber renouncing all he was before putting him out of his sad sorry misery. Lucas gave no quarter, spell after spell sent as he gained ground. There was a franticness to Rodolphus’ curses as spell after spell went reflected, an array of colour battling between them as the eldest Lestrange narrowly dodged and dived in a poorly choreographed dance, his anger, his sole focused purpose to his detriment, more curses then he would care finding their target, a multitude of damage inflicted on his form, his chest tight and aching where something lay broken, cuts spreading beads of red across gaunt white skin. Rodolphus grew ever more furious as he was forced to surrender ground, stepping back ever closer to the fiendfyre well aware his enemy was attempting to close him in. “No one betrays the dark lord and lives Mulciber!” He screamed manically, a enraged insanity burning through green eyes and a sharp grimace. He narrowly missed a burst of orange light, sending back a rather childish boil charm aimed to the face in a rather petulant fit. “You’ll be screaming before the nights out.” He was losing. An admittance that filled his stomach with a thick bile. He had lost too much ground. Already been hit several times over. He was losing. Rodolphus Lestrange never lost! Never and certainly not to some treacherous whelp. Not when it was his mission, his pride that stood in question. His own spells darkened ever further as he pulled out the stops from the very depths of the Lestrange library. Dark magic weaving it’s horrific path, disintegrating the standing buildings around them. But his aim was faltering, his speed stumbling. It was cold. So very cold. His teeth ground together in an attempt to bare through, clenched fingers seizing solid around his wand. He would not loose. He would not be defeated. Why was it so fucking cold?! His body was failing him. So very tried. At first he associated it with the battering of the duel. But his strength was draining from him at an alarming rate, as if someone had just turned on an exit valve. His limbs turning to dead weight, his usual quick, analytical mind slowing to a drudge. No he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fail. It was then he felt it. The chill that snacked down his spine and into the corners of his heart. He committed the one sin every duellist knew was as good as fatal, his eyes leaving his target, whirling around him. And then he saw it. Saw them. No more then feet away. Rippling black cloth lapping, unfaltered through the fiendfyre. In that moment the knowledge that he was undefended, unnoticing, readily defeated against anything Mulciber gave vanished entirely from his mind. His mission, of such vital importance now to him, forgotten. Still as a statue as he stared. Impossible. They couldn’t be… not here, not now. The etched fury was gone from his face, his features contorted with true, unadulterated terror. No! No it couldn’t be. It wasn’t fair! Run. He screamed at himself. Run you idiot fool. It was no use. Ice had set into his joints, into his very core freezing him solid in place. They closed in, swooping slowly with almost the same mocking leisure he had hunted the auror just minutes before. He could feel it; the one dementor as it paused looking through him and his entirety, not with eyes, as if in recognition, as if in hunger. Despite his minds screams, despite every attempt to move his body, to fight and run as far away from these nightmares his legs buckled, crumbing to the cobblestone street on his knees. Tears streaming through the grime collected from destroyed buildings down sharp gaunt cheekbones. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t move. There was nothing to be done. So very cold. So very alone. Rodolphus Lestrange, never wanted, never feared, never remembered. Nothing and worthless. The failure Lestrange in all his misery. Better in death, in the nothing of soullessness then he could ever be in life. The creature loomed above him. He could do nothing. Will nothing. He knew nothing but this creature, but the inevitability of this one terrible fate. It pulled back it’s cowl, spindly fingers of ice closing around his shoulders, what was left of his breath escaping him in a strangled crystallised rattle. Tear stricken green eyes as wide as a child’s as he stared up into empty sockets, lips parted with a futile terror. Time slowing to a stand still. “Please.” Rodolphus who never begged, uncertain now in the face of nothingness what it was he was begging for. Arctic breath spilt across his cheeks. The creature lent in, the gaping hole where a mouth should be parting, clamping its jaw around its victims mouth.

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Walk tall; cool, collected, but...savage

Wall tall; bruised, sensual..ravaged.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: B8B8B8; border: #550505 solid 4px; width: 400px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] “That man is a Professor! Stop this madness or I shall!” Immense pain and anger wracked every inch of Minerva McGonagall’s body, and she was fighting the urge to jinx the two ministry wizards before her into oblivion. These were the very same two that had choked and froze as a werewolf bore down on them, saved by a well aimed stunning spell to the back compliments of the Deputy Headmistress. And here they were again, blocking her way as dementors encircled Mulciber and Lestrange, in for a kill. She began to wonder if these two idiots were following her, had a knack for being in the way all the time, or if these were two other wizards entirely, just of the same spineless, useless generic make of all the new recruits the Ministry had recently. They had doubled their enlistment of enforcement officers since the break of the Second War, and none of the recruits had the guts or substance of the old Aurors and Hit Wizards like Kingsley. Even Nymphadora was infinitely more adept than these fools, clumsiness and all. Minerva had spent the last couple hours rallying allies and aiding civilians to get to safe zones that had been established, casting about defensive jinxes and blasting holes into the barriers the Death Eaters had set up. She could hardly distinguish the barrage of images and memories of the past few hours in her mind now, not even who she stood next to in those fleeting moments when an ally appeared to couple their efforts. Only two things were anchored constant in her mind, her own searing pain, and the child’s face. In a matter of moments, the hand of fate had spun Minerva around to face profound new levels of her own terror. The most innocent gesture of reaching out to comfort a terrified child had set in motion thoughts and sensations more unnerving than anything she had felt before. Vividly it came to her now: the softness of the child’s hand, then tiny frame pressed against hers in the biting cold, her heart racing as she moved gingerly forward on the hidden and perilous ice sheets, hearing the ferocious growl of the beast as it closed in to devour them both. Desperation and terror seized her as she felt the claws tear at her left side, biting back a cry of agony, trying to steady herself and the child in her arms. They could not die like this, especially not the child, not in this unholy, unnatural chaos. Then the beast was on the ground, bloody and twitching, then stirred no more, as Severus Snape dealt it a killing stroke. Minerva’s shock stole her words away, and, indeed, there were none that could be addressed to the man before her, so wild and alien were his eyes. It was as if the beast’s spirit had transferred to her colleague in this moment. They would have words, but this was not the time. She kept her composure and masked her pain to keep the child calm, though Minerva began to notice how disconnected the girl seemed to her immediate surroundings. They had found a nearby safe zone, and Minerva suffered a medic to tend her wound quickly, all the while studying the child’s face. Her stare was unsettling. There was a sense of self and a light of sentience behind those eyes, yet it seemed distorted, muffled. The same look was seated on the faces of other children rescued, which, Minerva had noted, was a curiously high number. It left her unsettled, and, judging from the glances she received from the medics and wizards now guarding the children, she wasn’t alone. A chill crept down her spine, quite apart from the winter night, or the spasms and chills her new wound invoked. It was like a looming sense of grasping at something insidious and horrifying that was momentarily masked by the pandemonium surrounding them in this tiny patch of reprise they had found. Rather like the feeling one would get the split second before realizing there is something or someone behind them, or lying in wait in the darkened corner, seconds away from springing. It was a sinister realization, dancing just out of reach, eluding her understanding by a hair’s breadth; shadows...and shadows, of shadows. Minerva had promised the child she was safe now, and vowed to return to see her after everyone else was safe, smiling through her pain. She did intend to see the child after, and continue doing so. Minerva felt bound to her now, as if they had shared an enormous life experience, and indeed they had. Dark thoughts aside, she genuinely wanted to see what the future held for her little rescuee. Not until she rose and turned to stride back into the fray did she feel the full burden of her wound and previous exertion. It weighed her down and sapped her endurance, making her lean against a lamp post, trying to regulate her breathing, coming in chilled ragged gasps. She glanced about wearily, spying two statues that had miraculously escaped destruction, and quickly bewitched them, willing them to march over to the safe zone and stand sentinel over the children. The idea inspired another as she surveyed the wrecked battle zone, and Minerva rose to flourish her wand in elaborate sweeps, causing a nearby mess of bricks and stone to amass and condense and reshape into a large rock golem. The animated creature trundled over to its master’s side, and moved forward with an awkward but sure gait. Death Eaters and allies flitted in and out of sight as Minerva made a deliberate stride down the alleyways. Now that she had done her part to secure the innocent, her resolve turned to rage, fueled by each painful step, and each sighting of a death eater. The werewolves were humans momentarily absent of sanity and reason, but their herders, these dark wizards, were the true animals. To willingly bring innocents to slaughter, and revel in it, was unnatural and a grotesque perversion of their humanity. As such, Minerva was now on the offensive, sending the golem to charge them as they sprang up in their path, taking distinct pleasure in delivering hexes or vigorous stunning spells to the face, as they stood momentarily caught off guard by the hulking mass of rock barreling towards them. Her strength was fading steadily, however, and she began rely more on the resilient golem to deliver veritable smackdowns to new foes, being less forceful with werewolves, opting to bind them in chains or conjure cages the minute they faltered. It was not until she spotted students moving about in the chaos that she felt another jolt of fear and urgency, especially when her eyes made out Potter in the billowing smoke, then Ginny Weasley. Potter was already out of earshot by the time she recovered enough to sputter 'Pott-,' quickly switching to yelling Ginny's full name with indignation. Her words caught in her throat as the girl turned to face her. Her face not that of a girl, but one hardened into that of a young woman with fiery determination and purpose. Across those couple hundred yards, which may have well as been a chasm, Minerva did not see a student, but an equal, and resigned to the fact that no lecture was necessary. Indeed, none would convince Ginny to go back to safety, as Minerva herself would have been here doing the same at her age. She simply gave her in an approving nod and carried on, silently musing on what her role as Professor must truly be, in order to educate her students in this dark hour. The time for sheltering and shielding them was long gone. If they were going to be brave and bold and face the new evils festering in the hearts of their enemies, they would need the skills and convictions to go with it. That would be Minerva' purpose, her duty to her school. She would, of course, first have to survive this moonlit madness. Her labored journey through the village brought her to the crescendo of this madness, as she now stood shouting down the ministry wizards. Merely moments ago she had turned to corner to see the vile soulless wraiths swarming around two men. 'Fear and suffering are the stench upon the air, and the vultures gather' she thought to herself, her stomach churning unpleasantly at the fate she knew would befall the wretched victims. She had no sympathy for the one she recognized as older, madder Lestrange brother, and was about to turn away, when another recognition hit her so terribly, she wondered at the miracle heart she must possess to still be functioning this night: Lucas was also about to be feasted upon like carrion. The wizards replied to her petition to save the Professor with irritable anxiety. "Mulciber was one of them! So what if he's switched sides? Hell, he deserves it as much as fucking Lestrange for all he's done!" said one. Minerva's face contorted in wild fury, and one of the statues appeared an instant later, crashing down next to the defiant wizard, flooring him with a sweep of its stone limb, and pinning him to the icy, blood tainted ground. The other stood wide eyed, staring at his partner, then back at Minerva, a mixture of fear, doubt, and anger in his ugly face. Yet he did not back down. Minerva and the golem advanced, her wand raised. "That man has done more for the civilians of this village than you two shall ever do with your entire lives! I thought the Ministry employed men of honour and sense of duty, not cowardly bastards! You will not act? Why? For fear of a mad death eater and some dementors? Stand down, sir, or I will show you true fear!" The man trembled, whether from anger, or fear, or the bitter cold. He wanted dearly to strike the old woman in her insolence. He could not, though, as he knew she spoke the truth, and he loathed her and himself for it. He did not want to be here, he knew Mulciber did not deserve the fate he was moments from, having seen his acts all throughout this siege. With tears threatening to escape his eyes, he stood aside, and the witch, bruised, cut and disheveled from the countless duels and hexes she had experienced, and her sentient soldier of stone, chipped and crumbling in parts, flew down the pass toward the dementors. Wrath carried her forward; all thoughts of her painful wound stifled by her all consuming anger. What the Dark Lord revealed so ingeniously, more than anything, this night, was the extent of the Ministry's impotency. They fumbled with werewolf rights for centuries, and here was the price of their folly, paid in full by the blood of the innocent. They entertained alliances with the wretched of the earth, those foul guardians of their wizarding prison, who would easily turn on them as they now did Lucas before her. Hesitation, ignorance, suspicion, pride, cowardice on the Authority's part had cost them far more than they could pay in this war, and yet they had the audacity to question and distrust the Order. It was time for Scrimgeour to reassess his hand, and cast his lot with them, rather than against them, and have the Ministry stand behind Potter, not the other way around. 'Potter...Harry.' Minerva thought of the young man, and felt a fire of hope amid her wrath. They all knew Harry would champion this fight for freedom, in one way or another, and would need all their help. She would live to see that day, and every single one of their allies would help her do so, even Lucas and his irking swagger. The image of the young infant, bundled in blankets, a peculiar scar on his slumbering forehead as she and Albus placed him on his family's porch sprung in her mind. In that moment, there was no thought of his beloved, deceased parents, or the horrid personality of the people she knew they were leaving him with. Like the rest of the wizard world, in that moment Minerva McGonagall was full of joy, hope, and admiration for the sleeping child. With that memory vivid, she raised her wand, a smile frozen on her lips a moment before she invoked the Patronus Charm aloud in a high clear voice for the first time in years, comforted in the knowledge that she would support that same sleeping child from 15 years ago till her last breath, and cast the dementors and all their ilk back to the darkest shadows. Her patronus lunged forward, a feline far more immense than it should be, pouncing and ripping at the spectres with silent ferocity, driving them back from the fallen wizards. As they fell back, the patronus prowled and encircled them, warming their flesh with its touch of heavenly light as its caster and her guardian arrived. It moved to sit just beside Lucas' head, though its body never truly touched the snow: a lion in the winter. words; 2200 tag; Andie, Roddy, Lucas notes; certified BAMF template made by missickle

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